Normal
by Siriuslyfun19212
Summary: I don’t think I’ve ever been completely normal. It’s a tad bit sad, knowing you’re the only one who doesn’t live up to anybody’s expectations. I guess this is some sort of karma--I’m smart, therefore, I’m a loser.


Normal

Disclaimer: I don't own any of what you recognise.

Summary: I don't think I've ever been completely normal. Not once, in my entire life, have I been what anybody would call "normal." It's a tad bit sad, knowing you're the only one who doesn't live up to anybody's expectations. I guess this is some sort of karma-I'm smart, therefore, I'm a loser.

Author Note One: I think this is one of my favourite stories that I've written. Hermione's always been one of my favourite characters, so therefore, I loved writing this. I hope you like it, too! Please review!

Author Note Two: I know somebody is going to read this and think that I messed up Hermione's ageno, I didn't. J.K.Rowling said herself in an interview that Hermione was born in 1979, not 1980. You have to be 11 to go to Hogwarts.

Author Note Three: Yes, there will be a sequel to this.

Anyway, read on! (And please review at the end!)

* * *

I don't think I've ever been completely normal. Not once, in my entire life, have I been what anybody would call "normal." It's a tad bit sad, knowing you're the only one who doesn't live up to anybody's expectations. I guess this is some sort of karma-I'm smart, therefore, I'm a loser.

The kid's at my school never hide what they think of me-oh, no-they flaunt the fact that they're "better" than me, popularity wise. I don't flaunt the fact that I'm smarter, though-atleast, I don't think I do. I've never purposely gone up to anybody and said, "I'm smarter than you," though, in class, I'm usually the only one who ever raises their hand.

I never tried out for sports-why bother? I have a lot of better things to do with my time-I don't need to be a cheerleader, or be on the soccer team. I don't understand what everybody is so excited about-you kick a ball around, woop-de-doo, I'm so happy for you. But I guess that's what everybody thinks of me-why does she read so much? Why does she not care what they think of her? Why does she never style her hair? I've got my reasons. I have better things to do, and besides, what effect will they have on my life? It's not like they'll become the Prime Minister-if they do, I must say, this place is doomed.

My mother and father have always been a tad bit upset over me-they think that I should try and fit in more. My mother even went as far as signing me up for a local beauty show-I looked so out of place, coming there wearing a red dress, hair all styled up. I remember seeing a girl from school there-she gave me the dirtiest of looks, and especially hated it when I won. The next day, a can of red paint fell out of my locker and onto me-she did it, I know she did. I never forgave her-she ruined my favourite jumper.

Of course, I never was exactly popular in school. Why should I be? I chose to study instead of going to the movies. I never went out of my way to make myself look pretty. I didn't wear designer fashions. I was a complete and total outcast. Who'd want to hang out with me? I guess that's why I've never had a single friend in school. My only friend, if you could call him that, is my pet dog that I got for my ninth birthday-Hugo. I named him after one of my favourite novelists, Victor Hugo, who wrote the wonderful book, "Les Miserables."

This didn't suit well with any of my classmates, especially April Lenston, who had to come over to my house last year-we had been paired together to work on a project. When she was over here, she looked around my room and her eyes went wide. My entire room was lined with book. There wasn't a single mirror, nor a vanity of makeup. It looked practically like a library, and apparently, April has a problem with libraries. She went up to one of the shelves-the shelf that I had made specifically for classics, and she read some of the titles.

"Hugo?" she had read aloud, picking up "Les Miserables" from the third row. "Isn't that the name of your dog?"

"Yes," I told her. "Victor Hugo, the author of that book, is one my favourite authors."

She looked at me and raised her eyebrow, before looking back at the book and flipping some of the pages along with her thumb. "This book is 1500 pages long! You couldn't have read all that!"

I gave her a dry look. "I read that book when I was seven," I said to her. "It's quite possible to read."

She shoved the book back in the shelf and glared at me.

"Well, bully for you."

I never liked that girl. Stupid prat went around school and told everybody that I was a "special" student, and only went along with the charade that I was so tremendously smart to cover it up. I did get my revenge, though, when I compared my report card with hers-I'm happy to say that she was failing three classes, unlike I.

Which brings me to my grades. I get perfect grades. I know everything they teach me-I read it all up in advance. Though, if there is one thing that I hate, it's PE. I'm not a lazy person, believe me, but I dislike _intensely _wearing shorts and a tee shirt. At school, I always wear baggy jumpers and jeans-but in PE, they make you take that all off and wear something so incredibly small that it shouldn't even my allowed in school. All the girls in my class love this, though-in their opinions, anything that lets them "strut their stuff"-their words, not mine-is just absolutely wonderful.

Of course, I reassure myself everytime that _they_ are the ones who'll be pregnant before they're old enough to drive, not me.

Of course, none of them know any guys to get them pregnant-they may eleven, but they're obsessed with boys. The sad thing is, though, that they obsess over them but never talk to them. Too shy or some nonsense like that. They'll never make friends with a boy-too shy, wouldn't want to talk about "boy" things, or something idiotic of the sort. Me, on the other hand, would love to befriend a guy. For one thing, they don't talk about make up, or who's dating who in the celebrity world. Guys are so different from girls, and I always wonder why I'm a girl and not a guy. It'd make more sense-and it'd explain why I absolutely despise the colour pink, unlike the other girls in my class.

I've always wondered what I would be like if I were like the other girls in my class. Maybe I would have friends. Maybe I would care what I looked like. Maybe my grades would be dreadful, and I'd be failing all my classes. Hmm... contemplative thinking, you could call it. I'll never be like them, but I think some day, they may put these grudges behind them.

Oh, who am I kidding?

* * *

School today was, of course, absolutely easy. I don't know why they haven't already moved me up a year. I've got the brains, I know I do. They know I do. They're being idiots, in my opinion. If I were moved up a year or two, the people wouldn't know of my current "reputation" of being the school bookworm. Maybe they wouldn't dump paint on me.

You see, that separates me from all the other geeks in my school. They all want to be normal so they're popular-I just want the pranks to stop.

The good thing is, though, is that today was the last day of the year-well, the school year. Next year I get to go to St. Whitney School for Educated Children-it's a "smart" school. You see, there isn't a "smart" school for anybody under age eleven-I would have gone last year, but no, I was _ten_ at the beginning of the year-two more weeks and I'd be proper age! My birthdate can be such an inconvenience sometimes.

On the bright side of going here, I think I'll finally be respected. Hey, maybe I'll be considered "normal" amongst the students. I hope so. I really don't want another Red Paint scene.

When I walked into the kitchen, though, my thoughts of St. Whitney's flew clear out of my head.

My mum was stirring a pot of soup. You could tell that she was enjoying herself-she was humming an old song. From what I could tell, it was by the "Smith's". She never hummed "Smith's" songs unless she was particularly happy.

"What are you so cheery about?"

She turned around and gave me one of her "Cheery Mother Smiles".

"Oh, I've been moved!"

"Pardon?" I asked. I wasn't entirely sure as to what she was talking about.

"I've been moved! You know how I worked at the office across that one pub?" I nodded. "Well, I've been moved to your father's office!"

I smiled for her. She'd been trying to get into daddy's office for months.

"Congratulations!"

"Thank-you. Your father was ecstatic when he found out."

I grinned.

"Any mail from me? In particular, any course schedules?" I asked, hinting at the St. Whitney course schedule.

"Oh, Hermione, you know that it won't get here until late July-but, there is an interesting letter for you," she told me, pointing to the counter where a stack of mail lay. I went over to it and filed through it, looking for my name.

When I found it, the envelope surprised me, needless to say. It looked to be made from parchment, and it had a purple wax seal on the back. I opened it and read through the letter. My eyes went wide. Maybe _this_ was the answer as to why strange things always happened to me! Maybe I wasn't normal here, because I wasn't _meant _to be normal here.

This explained a lot of things to me. Maybe, for once in my life, when I go to this school, people won't single me out for my brightness. Hopefully, nobody will douse me in red paint. And hopefully, for once in my life, I'll be normal.

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End.

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